The Worst Parts
by StumbleAlong
Summary: When her parents dragged her across the country to California, Fern had planned on laying low until she managed to graduate high school. However, things rarely go as planned, and she explores the best, and the worst, parts of moving. The question is, which category is she supposed to file "werewolves" under? Eventual Stiles/OC
1. The Ineptitude of Building Designs

**It's summer, and I have recently come to know and love Teen Wolf. Especially Stiles. He is my spirit animal, and needs more love.**

* * *

It wasn't moving that was the worst part, Fern decided, as she stacked box after box against the wall in her new bedroom. It was definitely packing and unpacking.

Packing had been painful, but in a different way. Cramming all sixteen years of her life into a series of cardboard boxes was a daunting task. On top of that, parting with childhood relics, or getting caught up in the nostalgia of kindergarten time capsules, science fair projects, or goofy photos of friends, tucked into painted, bedazzled macaroni frames was easy, and dozens of needles pricked her chest when she'd remember why she was unearthing these memories in the first place.

Moving sucked. Packing sucked.

But unpacking?

Unpacking was _torture_.

There were no shelves to put her glass-blown dragon from Renfest, no indication where she should put her posters and pictures, or where she should hang the cord of floral patterned paper lanterns. Not when the only piece of furniture was the lone, skeletal bed frame.

And there was so _much_ to unpack. Did she really have that much stuff? It didn't seem like it when everything was tucked away in its own place.

Still, Fern powered through her boxes. May as well get it out of the way, since she wouldn't have the energy the next day. Because yay, she got to start school _right away._

Her bedroom was pretty cool, she decided, as she pushed her nightstand against the wall, and settled her iHome on it, hitting shuffle.

The house was nicer and newer than any of the houses in her old town, even the new developments. There had been two upstairs bedrooms, and an office and a spare room on the main level, with one finished, and one unfinished room in the basement. Which had it's own kitchen setup- _awesome_.

The closet tiny, and didn't have doors (where she'd piled most of her clothes, to be hung and shelved later), and the floor was bare, cold concrete. Ceiling rafters peaked out, and a lone, naked bulb hung in the center of the room. It was perfect for shutting the world out, which she fully intended to do for the duration of her stay.

The Mountain Goats lulled her into a peaceful trance as she made up her bed, singing about scotch, and a girl named Cathy. By the time she'd gotten her bed completely set up, the moon was high and Fern was ready to crash.

* * *

_Skree, skree, skree skree-_

Ugh, for the love all things good, make the unholy screeching _stop-_

_skree, skree, skree, skree, skree..._

Fern wrestled her sleep-addled brain to focus. What was that? What did it want? More importantly, _how could she make it stop_?

Wait, wait. That was...that was her alarm, wasn't it? Because...because oh _crap_, she had _school_ today, and _how long_ had her alarm been going off for?

Fern launched herself strain up in bed, whipping her head around to survey the time- A quarter to seven. _Whew_. School started at half past seven. She could work with that. No need for panicking.

She kicked free of her comforter, shut her alarm off (with maybe a _little_ more force than strictly necessary), and ditched her pajamas on the cool, inviting floor in favor of shimmying into a pair of skinny jeans and fuschia, ribbed tank top. Over the tank top went a soft, white, scoop-neck shirt with a black-outlined cartoon owl on the front.

She pulled on her glasses, stuffed her feet into her shoes, tore a brush through her dark, forever curly, short hair, and fled upstairs, only pausing to sling her school bag over her shoulder.

By the time she'd gotten off the bus (ugh, _never again_) it was only fifteen minutes until classes started. Not much wiggle room to find the office and figure out where the first classroom was.

And what about a locker? Did she have one? Where was it? God, where was _anything_? Did she have everything she needed? Fern just had a bunch of notebooks and pens. Oh god, did she forget her phone, dear God, please have not forgotten her phone-

_Whump_.

While Fern had been digging through her bag, desperately trying to find her the device in question, she'd run right into a solid wall of person.

Embarrassment tinged her freckled cheeks a burning red as she looked up. A sharp, masculine face, topped with gelled, blond hair glared back.

"Watch it," The Wall snapped.

"Sorry..." Fern mumbled as the boy shoved his way past, and sighed. She knew it wasn't personal, that's just how high school _was_, but it did nothing to quell the cold, thick dread in her core.

Without much further incident, she made it to the main office (so _that's_ where it was), and cleared her throat softly.

A woman with short, striking red hair looked up from the desk, and whoa, those eyebrows were downright _frightening_-

"Excuse me, I'm Fern Mitchell, I'm a new student- " she started, her voice dying off when the secretary raised her hand to silence her.

"Yes, I have your schedule here. Welcome to Beacon Hills High School." She pressed sheet of paper into Fern's hands, and shooed her out the door, without so much as directing her to her locker.

Lady had bigger fish to fry, apparently. After all, sharpening pencils was _so very important_.

Fern tried not to let it get to her, with anxiety already roiling in her stomach, and set to work searching out her first class- economics. _Fun_.

After bumping through the crowds until the bell rang, Fern in the middle of the hallway, very lost. An upper classman had taken pity on her earlier, and tried to direct her to the room, but had disappeared, and Fern had gotten turned around again.

She was seriously considering hiding in the bathroom for the rest of the day when a gruff, _almost _(but decidedly not) paternal voice materialized behind her.

"A bit lost, are we?" Fern violently jumped. The voice chuckled. "I apologize, dear, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Um, yes, I'm a new student, I couldn't find my class, and the bell rang, and- " Fern turned to face a white-haired, slightly bent man. He coughed a bit, but smiled at her. She frowned. Somehow the smile didn't seem friendly.

"Shall I help you find it, then?" He extended a hand, and Fern deposited her schedule into his waiting palm.

"It says I have economics with Finstock..."

* * *

Luckily, she only had missed the first ten or so minutes of class, when the principal (Mr. Argent, she later learned), had pushed her into the classroom with another unnerving smile, this time directed at her teacher.

"New student," he explained briefly, before ducking out, leaving her to the proverbial wolves.

Her economics teacher was...off-putting, to say the least. He had a serious case of crazy eyes, and the kind of hair that looked like it might serve as a wild animal's home more than anything else.

He rubbed his hands together, and fixed her with a stare she was _sure_ had been unique to the homeless guy that hung out in front of the video store back home. Maybe they were related?

"Well?" he snapped all of a sudden. Fern jumped. Again. He rolled his eyes (_shudder_-worthy) when she only stared back at him silently. "_Name_! I have a class of hopeless, illiterate lacrosse players to teach!" He waved his hands in what could have been a spit-it-out motion, but looked more reminiscent of a seizure.

"Uh, Fern Mitchell." She choked out, unconsciously leaning away from the man. Was it just her, or did he smell like old towels?

"Great. I'm coach Finstock, call me coach, pick a seat, and shut up." Nope, there it was on the board- _COACH FINSTOCK_. Those were definitely old towels she smelled.

...God, even his _handwriting_ screamed mental instability.

"I'm not on a sports team." Really? _That's _what she was going with?

"_Then don't talk!"_ he made another spazztic motion towards the chairs in a chorus of poorly masked snickers from her peers.

_Okay then_, Fern mouthed to herself as she picked a nice, inconspicuous seat near the windows, and sat rigidly, willing the class to divert their attention back to their, uh, _coach_.

* * *

The rest of the day passed similarly, with bizarre teachers and an even more bizarre floor plan. Seriously, it was like someone had just taken a toddler's building block creation, and decided to use it as a key for placing classrooms.

The lunch room had been easy to find, _thank the benevolent lord_, but said benevolence abruptly ended when Fern had stood by the wall like an idiot, grasping her tray, and desperately surveying the room for vacant tables.

The best she could find was a _slightly_ occupied table, where a kid in a camouflage pullover was situated. She glanced at him as she set her tray down at the opposite side of the table, gauging his reaction. He spared her a brief glance, but otherwise paid her no mind.

She let out a breath of relief when he made no move to chase her off.

The peace was momentary, however, when a high-heeled blonde wrapped in a leather miniskirt and matching jacket sauntered over, flouncing down in front of camouflage-guy with unexpected grace.

"Hello, Boyd," she purred, stretching across the table to make smoldering eyes at him.

"Erica," He greeted her an awkward nod. He twisted open his water bottle with a soft _pop_, and a moment later a boy with a square jaw and a mop of blonde curls slid in next to Erica.

She draped herself around the newcomer, murmuring seductively. He gave a bark of laughter at whatever it was she had said, and shook her off good-naturedly. At least they weren't making out.

* * *

Her lunch period had gone mostly without incident. It was a nice change from the constant panic of _oh god where is this class I'm going to be late _again _shit I almost bumped into that jerk from this morning again is it just me or is he, like, everywhere._

Seriously though, he was _everywhere_. And he was _always_ in the way.

...She was starting to hate him a little bit.

Fern had dumped her lunch, uneaten, into the trash and made to high-tail it out of the cafeteria when she'd bumped into another person.

Fern swore to watch where she was walking for the rest of eternity if she could just _stop bumping into people._

Instead of a pissy glare, though, she was met with big, brown doe-eyes and an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," Fern started, but the girl waved it off.

"Don't worry about it, it was my fault. You're new here, right?" She smiled. Fern nodded. "I'm new this year, too. I started in the fall, at the beginning of the year." Lucky girl. "I'm Allison."

That smile could melt the cold, forsaken streets of her hometown in Michigan. Fern couldn't help but smile back. "Fern," she replied. Allison winced, but tried to hide it, bless her. "And yes, I know that's a terrible name."

"Well, Fern." Allison cocked her head. "Do you have anywhere to sit?"

* * *

**This is going to be a relatively slow-build story, and I plan on keeping in tune with the plot.**

**It has been a very long time since I have honestly tried to write something, so please be kind in your criticisms. I also apologize for grammatical errors and typos! I don't currently have a beta.  
**


	2. Sandman is a Dick

**Sorry for the delay! Enjoy!**

* * *

Allison led her through the maze of lunch tables easily, and slid into a seat at a sparsely-populated table without so much as pausing. She shot Fern another warm smile, one that possibly had mind-controlling abilities, and motioned for her to sit.

"Allison!" The tan, dark-haired boy she'd sat down next to turned towards her abruptly (dang, would you look at that jaw) and plastered himself to her side. Allison giggled good-naturedly, sparing him a kiss (the kid with the buzzcut sitting next to him pointedly gagged) before she turned back to Fern, who had cautiously slid into the seat across from her.

"Scott, Stiles, this is Fern. She's new," Uneven Jawline and Buzzcut Kid whipped their heads around to stare at her in near-perfect tandem.

"Wait, there's a new kid- "

"What- "

" … -_So be nice_." Allison cut them off, giving them both a pointed look. Uneven Jawline (Scott, was it?) at least looked a little sheepish, but the other kid, Stiles, just opened his mouth again to continue firing off questions.

Allison cleared her throat and shot him a warning glare.

He closed his mouth with a soft _click_.

"So, where are you from, Fern?" Allison turned back to her with another soft smile.

"Coldwater, Michigan." Fern replied casually.

"I've never heard of Coldwater." Stiles prodded.

"That's not surprising. Honestly, Beacon Hills is probably bigger." She sighed, crossing her arms on the table.

"Smaller than Beacon Hills? Is that _possible_?" Scott looked from Stiles to Fern, unconvinced.

"Probably," Stiles unscrewed the cap to his water bottle. "The midwest is infamous for their small, backwater communities." Fern rolled her eyes, and tried not to be offended. It was, painfully enough, somewhat true.

"It must be pretty different to move all the way out here," Allison commented. "I know it was for me."

"Why, where are you from?" Fern cocked her head. Allison glance at her hands uncomfortably. "I mean, I was just wondering, you don't have actually have to answer- " Great, thirty seconds of conversation, and she'd already screwed this up.

"No, it's alright, my family has just moved around a lot." Allison shook her head, lifting her eyes to meet Fern's gaze again. Scott scooted closer (was that possible? He was already like a tumor) and wrapped an arm around her.

"Scott, I'm fine!" She rolled her eyes, and punched his arm lightly, fighting a smile.

"Scott, buddy," Stiles prompted, elbowing him friend as he dipped down to kiss Allison. "_Scott_," he tried again.

Scott waved him off distractedly, and Stiles rolled his eyes, before catching Fern's eyes and motioning exaggeratedly towards the PDA next to him. "Do you see what I put up with? _Every day_. It's like they're_ parasites_."

Fern nodded grimly. Yeah, he had a point. They were very, uh..._attached _to each other. Allison broke away after a moment, returning her attention to the world around her. She blushed lightly when she met Fern's eyes. "I should probably go," She coughed. "My grandfather wanted to see me after lunch."

Fern raised her eyebrows in question.

"The principal, Mr. Argent, is her grandfather," Stiles clarified, sharing a look with Scott.

There was an awkward beat of silence. Fern felt a small grudge forming against Allison for abandoning her so abruptly. This was probably the most awkward moment of her life. This moment could win a medal.

Why, Allison, why would you subject-

"So," Stiles broke the silence (she was starting to see a pattern form, here). "What class do you have next?" He leaned over the table to paw at her schedule, which she belatedly realized she'd been desperately clutching the entire period. Her face tinted pink, and she unfolded it, sliding it across to him.

"Chemistry, I think," Stiles nodded along as he combed through her classes and teachers. "Not that I have any idea where that _is_." She muttered bitterly.

"Stiles and I have chem next, too." Scott gave her an awkward smile.

"Yeah, you're with us. With _Harris._" Stiles spat, looking up at her, pity in his eyes.

"I take it that's bad." Fern probed, meeting his gaze.

"Harris is kind of a dick." Scott agreed.

"Kind of? _Kind of_, Scott? The man is a- " Stiles', er...flailing, for lack of a better word, was cut short by the bell.

Scott patted him on the shoulder, and clamored away from his seat at the table to grab his backpack. "Come on. Don't want another detention from Harris, right Stiles?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, and huffed.

* * *

_They were in Chemistry. Scott and Stiles rushed to sit next to Lydia, flanking her, Erica smirking behind them._

_Allison shot Scott a look. He jerked his chin over his shoulder to Erica._

"_Einstein once said that two things were infinite," Harris began. "the universe, and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the universe. I myself, have encountered infinite stupidity." He punctuated this by patting Stiles' shoulder. She felt the anger burning low in him, felt the urgency of more pressing matters._

_Something about a plague of stupidity. Lydia smiling at Harris, as he continued to harass Stiles._

"_Erica, start station one," He paused, as the back row raised their hands in unison. "I didn't ask for volunteers. Put you hormonal little hands down."_

_Isaac looking around, amused. Erica, smug at the attention._

"_Start with Mr. McCall."_

_Dread on Scott's face._

_Erica's hand on Scott's thigh._

"_You're not my type."_

"_I'm _exactly _your type!" Erica snarled as he removed her hand, grabbing the back of his neck, her eyes flashing a vibrant yellow._

_Harris rang the bell. "Switch."_

_The room blurred, but Harris' voice picked up again, after ringing the bell once more._

"_If you've catalyzed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal."_

_Stiles swirls a glob of something sandy and yellow-streaked at the bottom of his beaker, frowning._

"_Now, for the last part of that experiment I'm sure you'll all enjoy," Harris continued. "You can eat it."_

_A man with dark hair and scruff that had gone a few days too long to pass for stubble and stood in front of a camaro in the parking lot, watching through the window._

_Lydia plucked the crystal from Isaac's tongs, biting into it._

"_What are you going to do to her?"_

* * *

Fern jerked awake, sitting straight up in bed. Her alarm was going off next to her.

She shut it off numbly, shaking her head. Tossing the comfort off of her, she slid out of bed, and prepared for her second mind-numbing day of school with jeans and a soft hoodie. She could already tell it was going to be a long day.

Armed with a thermos of tea and a thick book, Fern made her way to school, having woken up early enough that she'd have time to walk, loathing to let another day go by on the bus.

By the time lunch rolled around, the Fern had opted to sit in the hallway with her tea, and lose herself in the pages of _Dracula_. She'd barely gotten through a page when two animal-print high heels stepped into her field of vision.

Fern raised her eyebrows, looking up. She was met with a leather jacket, and honey-brown eyes, framed by long blonde curls and artfully-applied mascara. Make-up artists around the world wept for the way this girl accented her eyes. A contemplative look crossed the girl's features.

"Are you out here by yourself?"

"_I'm _exactly _your type!" Erica snarled._

Fern blinked, and shook her head slightly, color staining her cheeks. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you were sitting out here by yourself." She repeated, looking down the hallway.

"Um, yeah..." Fern adjusted her glasses.

Erica leaned back against the wall next to her, sliding down to sit.

"I read that book earlier this year," She commented, motioning to the Bram Stoker novel. "It was good. Not as good as English teachers make it out to be, but still worth reading."

"Yeah, it's a good book so far. I don't know that I'd gush over it, though," Fern agreed, setting the book down softly.

"You're Fern?" Fern nodded silently. "You sat at our table yesterday."

"Yeah..." Fern's eyes dropped, and she fiddled with her tea thermos.

"It's because you're new, right? You don't know anyone." Fern nodded again. "Well, don't feel like you can't sit there for some reason," Erica continued. "Boyd and Isaac don't bite. I, on the other hand, make no promises." She flashed Fern a toothy smile.

Yellow eyes and claws glowed in the back of her mind.

"Thanks. It's just..hard figuring things out, you know?" Erica nodded, listening.

No. She was _not_ going to let a stupid dream get in the way of this. She did _not_ have the luxury of being picky about friends. Erica had been nothing but pleasant to her. A weird, late night TV-induced dream was not going to screw this up.

"...I didn't make friends easily back home," Fern admitted, bringing her eyes up to meet Erica's. "I had a couple of people I was close with, but..." She trailed off, shrugging.

It was quiet for a moment, but not as awkward as it had been with Stiles and Scott.

Erica shifted next to her. "I used to get seizures," She looked up at the ceiling. "Before I found a way to make them stop, I didn't have any friends. Or confidence," Erica added, then paused, looking down the hallway again, head cocked almost as if she were listening for something. "...But, now I have Isaac and Boyd."

Fern sighed, and tilted her head back to rest against the wall. "Unfortunately, there's no secret formula for confidence."

"That's debatable." Erica laughed, standing and brushing herself off.

The bell rang.

Fern wandered into the chemistry room just as the bell rang, and hurried to an unoccupied seat near the back, silently cheering for having not gotten hopelessly lost. Just...kind of lost. Turned around, really. She made it before the bell. No one could criticize her.

"Einstein once said that two things were infinite," Fern's head snapped up.

"The universe, and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the universe. I myself, have encountered _infinite_ stupidity." He patted Stiles shoulder. Fern couldn't see his face from where she was sitting, but remembered how he'd looked in her dream as if it were taken from a photograph.

"So, in order to combat the plague of ignorance in my class, you are going to combine efforts in a round of group experiments. Let's see if two heads are, indeed, are better than one. Or in Mr. Stilinski's case, less than one."

Stiles' shoulders hunched, ever so slightly.

"Erica, take the first station. Start..." He trailed off, critically eyeing the back row. "I didn't ask for volunteers. Put your hormonal little hands _down_."

Erica preened, glancing around her briefly.

Fern's hands shook in her lap, and she stuck them in her hoodie's pockets, and gulped in a breath.

_"Start with Mr. McCall," _Harris' voice echoed in her head, from the void where all of her monsters lived.

"Start with Mr. McCall." Harris said with a note of finality. It may as well have been a death toll (Scott certainly seemed to agree). Fern dropped her head onto her desk.

"Alright, next two."

Her heart was pounding. It was getting hard to breath.

Scott murmured something to Erica. She leaned in close, placing a hand on his thigh, whispering seductively.

Her lab partner cleared their throat in annoyance.

"Sorry," she muttered. The girl simply raised an eyebrow, and handed her a beaker.

"Never? You never get jealous?" She heard Lydia ask Allison across the room.

"Why would I?"

"Because that, right there, requires some jealousy." Fern followed Lydia' gaze, where it was fixed on Erica's hand traveling up Scott's thigh.

"You're not my type." He pried her hand off.

"_I'm exactly your type!" _Fern's head snapped up to watch the exchange. Her heart leapt in her throat when she saw the hand on his neck, and the hint of claws where fingernails should be. Fern blinked, and they were gone. of course they were gone. Because Fern was projecting, obviously, and probably needed to go home, sick.

And maybe get checked out for head injuries.

"Switch," Harris called, tapping the bell on his desk.

Allison leaned in to murmur something to Lydia, staring at her seriously.

"Let's go girls," Harris leaned between them. "Next station."

Scott practically dove into the seat next to Lydia, as Allison stood up.

Fern moved to the next table with her heart in her throat, watching as Isaac slid into the other side of Stiles' table.

By the time he Harris hit the bell again, Isaac had maneuvered next to Lydia while Harris was busy hissing something angrily at Stiles.

Fern moved again, ignoring her angry lab partner, eyes locked onto them.

"_If you've catalyzed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal. Now, for the last part of the experiment I'm sure you'll all enjoy- you can eat it."_

Fern stared at the crystal sitting innocently in the bottom of her partner's beaker.

Nausea and anxiety roiled in her stomach as Harris reached towards the bell, eyes on his watch.

_A man with dark hair and scruff that had gone a few days too long to pass for stubble stood in front of a camaro in the parking lot, watching through the window._

Fern practically launched herself across the room, stopping short in front of the chemistry teacher.

"Mr. Harris," she choked.

He raised his eyebrows. "You look pale, Ms...Mitchell, was it?" She nodded weakly.

"I need to go to the nurse. I think I'm going to be sick."

He studied her for a moment, and she tucked her chin against her chest as she fought a wave of nausea. Harris shook his head, as if to clear it, and hastily scribbled her a pass.

"For god's sake, at least make it into the _hallway_, first!" He extended the piece of paper, and urgently tipped his head at the door.

Fern glanced behind her, out the window, as she exited the room.

Across the parking lot, in front of the _Beacon Hills Cyclones _sign that advertised the school's lacrosse team, a lone, dark-haired figure stood in front of a black camaro.

Fern threw herself in front of the nearest trash can in the hallway, lurching as her stomach rolled, rejecting its contents.

What the _hell_ was going on?

* * *

**Whew, I'm sorry this chapter took a little bit to crank out. It was actually pretty fun to write, once I figured out what to do with it. I just had to wrestle with it for a while first.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think c:**


	3. Crime Scene Prevention

**I'm not sure I'm entirely satisfied with this chapter, but you've waited long enough. Things will pick up speed from here! Enjoy!**

* * *

"I thought you said you were going to use the _finished_ bedroom." Fern's mother placed her hands on her hips, eying the ceiling rafters critically. "Those are a health code violation, I'm pretty sure." She leaned against the door frame. Fern groaned and curled up under her mattress.

Most sensible parents didn't try to make conversation with a sick child they'd just picked up early from school. Fern's was swimming in confusion, and generally speaking, she felt like crap.

"Can we _not_ do this right now, mom?" She asked, voice muffled from the depths of her nest, praying her mother could take a hint. Her mother sighed. "Fine."

Her mother hesitated a moment. "We got a letter from dad, today."

"Which one; your ex-husband, or your imaginary husband?" Not that it mattered.

"Fern!" She snapped, crossing the room and pulling the blanket off of her daughter's face. "I don't care _how_ sick you are, show a little respect!"

"Right, 'cause they've both been _such_ great husbands," Fern snorted bitterly. "one divorced you, and the other is playing with guns in Afghanistan."

Her mother threw her hands up and stormed out of the room. "If you don't want to read the letter, you don't have to be a brat about it, Fern.." She called.

"It's not my fault you keep marrying assholes." Fern huffed, pulling the comforter back over her face, and rolling over to go to sleep.

* * *

_"Uh, there's been a few break-ins around the neighborhood." Stiles deadbolted the front door of Scott's house, and turned Lydia and Jackson, standing behind him with raised eyebrows. He hesitated, before shoving a chair under the door. Allison raised an eyebrow. "And a murder!" He added. "Yeah, it was bad."_

_The scene changed, and suddenly she was viewing a crowded school hallway._

_"McCall!" A kid she hadn't seen before in school snapped a picture of Scott._

_Suspicion rolled off of him in waves as surveyed the image, ruined by lens flare._

_The world spun and tilted, and then Scott was in the library, on his cell phone. "It's me. You need to get here, right now." Allison's voice demanded._

_"What's going on?"_

_Back in the house, Allison stood in front of a window next to Stiles, a crossbow dangling from her hand. Across the street, the same guy from the parking lot stood, with Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. They practically emanated intensity and threat._

_Allison pressed a hand to her mouth, and took out her phone. 'I think...I think I have to call my dad."_

_"_What_? But if he finds you here, you and Scott-"_

_"I know," Allison cut Stiles off. "What am I supposed to _do_? They're not here to scare us, okay? They're here to_ kill Lydia_."_

_Lydia's boyfriend- Jackson, something supplied- stood behind Lydia in a dark bedroom, angry. "Where's my key, Lydia?"_

_She didn't answer._

_"It was you, wasn't it? You edited the tape."_

_"What tape?" She choked, voice strained._

_"The night of the full moon!" She looked at him, confused. "The recording? You came into my house, and you saw what was happening, so you took the tape and you edited out the _most important part_." His voice was tight, his jaw clenched._

_"I don't know why," He continued. "Maybe because you wanted to take that from me. My moment. Like you take _everything_." He spat, then hesitated, shaking his head. "Or maybe you just thought you were protecting me." his voice gentled. "But it was you, wasn't it?"_

_"I don't know what you're talking about," Lydia wheezed. "But if you need is _so _badly," She removed one of her necklaces, and held out his hand, dumping a key and chain into his palm, her cheeks wet._

_He looked taken aback by her tears._

_"I hate you," She hissed. "I hate you so much."_

_"No," He shook his head. "No you don't."_

_"I should!" She held his eyes, though her voice shook. "I _should _hate you."_

_He reached up to brush her tears away, and leaned in to kiss her._

_Her hand found the back of his neck, and the collar of his shirt slipped down, revealing the beginnings of reptilian scales, spreading across his back._

_Downstairs, Stiles turned to Allison._

_"I have an idea," She looked at him. "Shoot one of them."_

_"What? Are you serious?"_

_"They don't think we're going to fight. So if we do, I guarantee they'll take off." Stiles leaned against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face._

_Allison pulled the curtain back. "Which one?"_

_"Shoot Derek. Aim for the head."_

_"Scott was able to catch an arrow right out of the air. If he can, Derek definitely can."_

_"Okay, uh...shoot one of the other three, then."_

_"You mean two."_

_"No, I mean three!" Stiles joined her at the window, where Erica, Boyd, and the man from the parking lot stood, watching them. "Where the hell's Isaac?"_

_Suddenly, Isaac appeared behind them, disarming Allison and pushing her away, and knocking Stiles to the floor. He advanced, with elongated, sharp canines and glowing yellow eyes._

_In the bedroom, the sound of glass shattering broke Lydia away from the kiss. "What was that?"_

_Jackson collapsed on the floor, gasping, a hand pressed to the back of his neck as she slid through the doorway, cautiously approaching the stairs._

"_What's _happening_?" She murmured weakly, still crying faintly, hearing growls and snarls from the main level._

_Allison rushed up the stairs, meeting her in the hallway. "Get back," she hissed. "Someone is trying to break in, okay?Go." She hesitated, taking a step back. "Lydia, _go!" _Allison exclaimed with more urgency, and Lydia turned, hurrying back to the bedroom._

_She closed the door, leaning against it. Looking around the empty room, she adopted an expression of concern. "Jackson?"_

_Shutting herself in the closet, she grasped at her cell phone, shakily tapping at the screen. "Hi, yes, I need the police- " She screamed at a loud crash, retreating from the door._

_Allison opened the bedroom door and locked it, pointing her crossbow at the open window._

"_Stiles," she called. "It's here."_

_Something dripped from the window sill._

_Erica kicked down the door, making an amused sound when Allison pointed the crossbow at her. "This might make me sound kind of like a bitch, but," she smiled. "I've always wondered what it'd be like to steal someone's boyfriend. I bet it's a pretty sick rush of power." She crossed her arms, looking at the door frame, as if she'd just had a brilliant idea. "I think I might try it with Scott! And you know what? I don't think it's gonna be that hard. Because why would he be waiting around, to steal ten minutes with you, when he can have me, _anytime he wants."

_Allison stayed calm, firing an arrow. Erica caught it, laughing. "You didn't really think that would work, did you?"_

_Allison lifted her weapon, a victorious glint in her eyes. "Actually, I did."_

_Erica opened her palm, her hand wet with something the arrow had been coated in._

_She crumpled to the floor, and Allison leaned over her, brushing a blonde curl out of her face. "I thought you were psychic," She murmured in Erica's ear, standing. "Bitch." She added, almost inaudibly, as she left the room, leaving Erica on the floor._

_Outside, the parking lot guy tracked the sounds of crashing and banging in the house. A light flickered off in one of the windows. He smirked as the door opened, something inside roaring, but it quickly turned into a look of frustration as Erica and Isaac were ejected from the home, landing in the yard._

_He sighed, looking thoughtful as Scott, Allison, and Stiles stepped onto the porch. "I think I'm finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott," He never broke eye contact with Scott. "You're not an omega. You're already an alpha- of your own pack." His expression turned into a smug smile. "But you know you can't beat me."_

"_I can hold you off until the cops get here." Scott glared. The man's smile disappeared, and he turned his head to the sirens in the distance, worried. His gaze then shifted to the roof of the house, and his face hardened._

_The trio caught his look, and rushed off of the porch._

_Their expressions turned to horror._

* * *

Fern sat up in bed, rubbing at her eyes. Thick, cold dread was lodged in her gut. She tapped her fingers impatiently on her leg, and shook her head.

"Just a dream," She murmured. "It was just a stupid dream." The light coming through her window was fading to a cool, muted shade. It was getting dark out.

"I'm heading to work!" Her mother called from upstairs.

"Okay," Fern called back.

Normal. This was _normal_. Normal was good, she could do normal.

Fern smoothed bedhead down after napping, and slid out of bed, heading upstairs. The garage door creaked and groaned and her mother's car pulled out of the driveway.

She padded into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and leaning against the counter.

"It was just a dream." She repeated to herself, fighting the anxiousness crawling restlessly inside of her. Her phone chirped, and she dug it out of her pocket.

_From: Carson_

_Time Sent: 6:56 PM_

_Time Received: 6:56 PM_

_have the californians killed you yet_

_if so dibs on your laptop_

Fern rolled her eyes at the message, and tapped out a reply.

_if i die my laptop is going down with me_

Not a moment later, her phone alerted her of his response-

_i will pry it out of your cold, dead hands_

Fern tucked her phone away, cringing as the image of Lydia in the closet, crying silently as she called the police, flashed through her head.

Cold, dead hands indeed.

"It was just a _dream_!" She shouted, frustrated with herself.

Still, the only other dream she'd head that was so vivid, so specific...was of chemistry that morning. The haunting dread of watching her dream unfold right in front of her resurfaced in her chest, full-force.

Fern groaned, throwing her head back and snagging the keys to the spare car off the hook. She trudged to the door, shoving her feet into her shoes, and climbing into the sad excuse for a vehicle.

This was absolutely ridiculous. If only for her piece of mind, she would drive by Scott's house just to prove to herself that it was _just a dream_. Everything was _fine_. There were no fangs or glowing eyes, and Lydia's boyfriend certainly did not have _scales_.

Pulling up to Scott's house, her jaw dropped.

"You've gotta be _shitting _me."

* * *

The Leather Jacket guy (well, maybe that wasn't such a good name for him, it really didn't narrow down who she was referring to- seriously, why did everyone where leather, it wasn't even _cold_ here) was obviously the leader. His head turned in the direction of your car, and she stared right back at him, dumbfounded.

Against her better judgement, Fern stepped out of her car, edging towards the house. Leather Jacket Guy- no, no Parking Lot Creeper was a much better name. Parking Lot Creeper's eyes followed her as she inched towards Scott's yard.

"What are you doing here?" He rumbled, irritated.

"Uh...visiting Scott?" Fern ventured, glancing at the door. Would they let her inside? God, she hoped so. "Yeah, Scott and I are...uh, buddies. Gonna work on some chemistry- "

"You're lying." He cut her off, crossing the street.

"Yes, well." she swallowed hard. "It's none of your business anyway, is it?"

He cocked his head. "I think it is," he disagreed. "I think- " Fern's gaze traveled behind him, where there were three, count 'em _three_, figures- Isaac, Erica, and Boyd.

"It's been nice talking," Fern cut Parking Lot Creeper off mid-sentence, surprising herself. This guy was there to _kill Lydia_, as it had been made clear in her dream, which was now obviously coming true, just like chemistry, and oh god, she was panicking- but that wasn't the point. He was there with the intent to _murder a teenage girl_, and she was mouthing off to him. What was _wrong_ with her?

"I have, stuff to do, though," Fern continued, despite her internal distress, and strode towards the front door with newfound urgency. "You know, places to be, potential murders to prevent- " She trailed off, finding herself on the porch.

He raised an eyebrow. Abruptly, she whirled around, pounding her fist on the front door.

"_Stiles! Open the goddamn door!" _Oh my god, he was going to kill her, he was crossing the yard, she was going to die-

Stiles' wide-eyed face appeared in the window, and he made a series of exasperated motions at her, finally ending with a _bitch, really?_ look. There was a scraping noise- probably the chair being pulled away from under the doorknob- and the door swung open a crack. Fern was yanked in by her arm.

Fern just barely managed to stick her tongue out over her shoulder at Parking Lot Dude before she disappeared inside the house, and the door swung shut. Seriously, what was _wrong_ with her, tonight?

Allison and Stiles gave her twin looks of disbelief.

"Fern," Allison started, and shook her head, trying to find the words to express her thoughts.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here? How did you even know we were here?" Stiles demanded. Fern scrambled to come up with a believable explanation, but Allison beat her to the punch, whipping out her phone.

"I...I think I have to call my dad." She blinked back tears, glancing at Fern and pressing a hand to her mouth as she began sifting through her contacts.

"What? But if he finds you here, you and Scott- "

"I know." She choked. "What am I supposed to do? They're not here to _scare_ us., okay? They're here to- ..." she shot a worried glance at Fern. "They're here to, you know..." She made a vague hand gesture, trailing off again.

"_They're here to kill Lydia."_

Fern swallowed. "To kill Lydia, right?" She choked out, closing her eyes. This had been such a bad idea. She should've stayed home. Instead of playing murder prevention, she could be netflixing Doctor Who, or texting Carson about the west coast horrors she'd endured.

Stiles' and Allison's heads both whipped around to stare at her, mouths open, and eyebrows up.

"How did you know that?" Allison prompted, almost too quietly to hear.

"I may have...overheard some things..." Fern's eyes flitted to the side nervously. It wasn't a lie, not really. It was just an...indirect truth. She _had_ overheard some things. Quite a bit of things, actually. Just...not in the way they were thinking.

"Shit,"Stiles swore, looking at her, and glancing back at the window. "_Shit_," he repeated, but with more panic. "Allison, there's only three of them out there. Where's Isaac?" Fern closed her eyes in horror. She'd forgotten about that part. And it was a pretty important part.

Isaac's footsteps were not stealthy, as they approached. They were confident, fast. Efficient. He shoved Allison out of the way, then tackled Stiles, all before Fern could open her mouth. He didn't seem surprised by Fern's presence- of course not, she berated herself. He'd seen her go inside, for crying out loud. He just didn't see her as a threat, which...was kind of insulting, to be honest.

Despite her irrelevant indignation, Fern wasted no time tripping up the stairs, with Allison hot on her heels. Lydia was in the hall, inching towards them, shell-shocked. Something shattered downstairs. Fern leaned over the banister, just in time to witness Isaac bare his teeth at Stiles.

Her brain short-circuited.

It refused to process what was happening in front of her. Dreaming about the future was weird enough. Especially when it wasn't even her future, directly. But fangs and electric yellow eyes? Yeah, no. Fern didn't sign up for this.

Her coping mechanism had left the building.

"What the _fuck_ is going _on_?!" She yelped, effectively halting the fight.

Isaac looked up at her, regaining his composure quite quickly. He mock-winced, and drew in a breath of air through his teeth. "Should've stayed home, huh?" He glanced down at Stiles. "Unless...you _invited_ her? Seriously?" He laughed, amused.

"I have no idea why she's here, either." Stiles choked, taking advantage of Isaac's momentary distraction to kick his legs out from under him. Just then, Scott burst through the back door and into the hall where they were fighting, his face contorted into something far less human than Isaac.

"Stiles," Allison's voice called from the bedroom. "It's _here_."

Fern bolted back upstairs. It only took a minute for Allison to let her back in, giving her a tired look when she re-locked the door.

Jackson was gone. Allison was coating an arrow in something dripping from the sill, and her hand shot out to Fern's torso- a clear signal to stay back. "Don't let it touch your skin," she warned.

"Yeah," Fern breathed. "It's a paralytic." Allison gave her another shell-shocked look.

"How do you know what's going on?"

"I-...I don't, just...just bits and pieces. Things I overheard." Fern reiterated, praying Allison wouldn't examine the lie too closely.

"But you showed up here tonight," Allison said, hurriedly loading her crossbow, shooting worried looks at the deadbolted bedroom door. The universe was not feeling generous tonight, apparently.

"Had to run to the store," Fern muttered. This fast, think fast. "I saw a bunch of people outside the house, and put the pieces together."

"And you chose our side? Without even knowing what's going on?" Allison eyed her warily.

"Well, between Stiles and the creeper from the parking lot- "

The door flew open with a crack (hallelujah, a distraction), and Fern flew to the side, removing herself from the soon-to-be path of destruction. Erica tutted, smiling as she faced Allison.

"This may make me sound like kind of a bitch, but," She cocked her head. "I've always wondered what it'd be like to steal someone's boyfriend. I bet it's a pretty sick rush of power." She crossed her arms, and leaned against the doorframe. Fern was reminded of earlier that afternoon, when she'd spoken to her mother.

Erica continued to monologue, and Fern shifted, knowing Allison was about to fire her arrow. Just as she was raising her crossbow, Erica turned to her. Fern's eyebrows shot up. "Fern," she took a step forwards. " You're so quiet, I wonder how you ended up in this mess."

Allison cleared her throat, and Erica's attention was drawn back to her, just as Allison fired.

She laughed, waving it lightly at Allison when she caught the projectile.

"You didn't think that was actually going to work, did you?"

"Actually," Allison smirked. "I did."

Erica collapsed, and Fern took that moment to flee the room. She'd made it downstairs just in time to see Scott unforgivingly ram Isaac into the floor, where he stilled.

His eyes caught hers, and he tilted his head. "Fern?"

"I'm going to punch you if you ask me why I'm here," she choked, staring at Isaac's form. "Not that it'd do much good," she added, somewhat weakly.

"A little _help_ here, Scott?" Allison called from the stairs, where she was dragging Erica.

They stepped out onto the porch. Fern hung back in the doorway as Parking Lot Creeper (who would now be referred to as PLC, for the sake of convenience) exchanged words with Scott. When Derek's expression turned to horror, after glancing at the rooftop, Fern knew what it was he saw.

"It's that blue reptile thing, isn't it?" she murmured, taking a step backwards into the house. PLC's attention whipped back to her, and she immediately regretted opening her mouth.

"The kanima," Stiles corrected, hot on Allison and Scott's heels as they sprinted into the yard, turning to the roof.

"It's Jackson, isn't it?" Fern felt like throwing up again. This whole day was just one big blur of wanting to throw up. Scott met her eyes, nodding gravely.

* * *

Fern did not attend school the next morning. Fern sat on the living room couch, and stared at the blank TV, trying not to relive the blue scales on Jackson, or the flash of fangs from Isaac. The complete personality change from Erica.

That, she thought, had stung the most. Erica had been nice in school- compassionate, even, despite her reputation. Despite the way everyone looked at her, like she was a dangerous animal- a beautiful, rare animal, but too dangerous to touch, or get too close to.

Fern was picking at the sleeve of her pullover hoodie, willing her phone to chime, for a friend from Michigan to text. For anything. Any distraction was welcome at this point. Fern just _didn't want to think about this anymore._

The window in the kitchen slid open, and Fern's head shot up, frozen as she watched a familiar leather jacket and shock of black hair climb through and land gracefully on the linoleum, and this was _not_ the distraction she'd had in mind-

"I think," he started. "That it's time you and I had a talk." He gave her a toothy smile, but there was nothing friendly about it.

Fern's heart rocketed, but she remained glued to the couch. It was like she had been born without fight-or-flight instincts- she just froze, like a rabbit. And she hated herself for it.

"You can calm down," he spoke again, holding his palms out to convey harmlessness (an endeavor at which he _failed_) as he crossed into the living room. She shrank under his predatory gaze. "I just have a few..._questions_."

Finally, Fern found her voice. "I don't know who you are, or what you want, but I _will_ call the police if you don't get the _hell _out of my house- "

"You could call the police, yeah." he advanced towards her stopping just in front of the coffee table. Fern drew her legs to her chest protectively. "But then I'll just send my betas after you, and, despite what you may think? You can't avoid school forever."

The hell was a beta? Wait, wait. Betas were a kind of fish. Which didn't really make sense, but maybe that the term he used for his lackeys? There was really no other contextual explanation.

"You mean Isaac and Erica?" her voice shook, and his smile grew.

"Boyd, too." Not for the first time in her life, Fern felt trapped.

He sat down in the armchair across from her, leaning back comfortably. "Why don't you tell me what you know about your friends, Fern."

"My friends are none of your business." her voice wobbled. "How do you know my name?"

"You say that, but that little tick in your heartbeat?" she raised her eyebrows as he ignored her question. "That says otherwise."

"My _heartbeat_?"

"Let's try something easier," Fern felt a spark of irritation, being patronized by him. "Do you know who I am?" she shook her head. He raised an eyebrow. "Do you know _what_ I am?"

"A controlling asshole who broke into my house to play twenty questions?" she clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She _really_ needed to get herself under control. It was only her third day in this town (god, did time really move that slowly? She was never going to make it to graduation). She wanted to live long enough _at least_ move back to Michigan.

He chuckled, and opened his mouth, but Fern cut him off. "I know you hang around in the high school parking lot. I know you broke into my house. I know you tried to kill Lydia Martin. I know that if I call the police, that will be _more_ than enough to bring you in for questioning."

He clenched his jaw. "I think you should leave." she added, trying to drive home her message, but it came out weaker than she had hoped.

"I think," he stood up, approaching her. "That you have bits and pieces of information that don't make sense to you. I think you're not aware of the whole picture. I also think, that if you have any common sense, you should stay out of this."

* * *

**Fern's visions will get shorter, I promise. After all, we've all seen the episodes, I don't need to rehash them for you. But, let me know what you think of the chapter, of Fern, etc. I'm open for constructive criticism, as well as suggestions, speculations, etc. Oh, also let me know right away if you think anyone is OOC at all. There hasn't been a _lot_ of canon character interaction thus far (sorry, I promise more soon!) but I'd like to know, regardless, so I can nip it in the bud. Like I said, it's been a while since I've written. Anyway, leave a review, subscribe to updates- do whatever your heart so desires!**


	4. Betas are a Kind of Fish

**Sooo, this chapter is kind of choppy to be honest. Uh, sorry about that. I was hoping it'd piece together a little more nicely, but after struggling with it for a while, I decided to just let it be. You guys have been waiting long enough for an update the way it is. I hope you enjoy it, despite its faults.**

**Also, still no beta, so any mistakes are my own and I apologize in advance.**

* * *

_I am invisible. I am the master of stealth. Assassins have nothing on me. I am an ethereal being unseen by the naked eye. I am-_

"Fern!" Scott called from down the hall.

...-_screwed. I am so screwed._

Nearby, Erica's head snapped in her direction. She smiled predatorily, and began advancing through the packed crowd of teenagers.

_Nope. Nope, a million times nope, nope forever and always._

_I am noping the fuck out of here, this is not happening, reality is only comprised of what I accept to be true._

_Which definitely does not include this._

Fern swallowed hard, gripped the straps of her backpack, and let the current of students swiftly carry her away, before veering down a random hallway and praying for sanctuary.

"Fern, wait- "

_Not today, buddy._

One floor up, three turns of varying directions, and she found herself near the trophy cases, and far away from the danger of past acquaintances. She only felt a _little_ guilty- Scott had been a nice dude. But she really didn't need to accidentally join a gang war or something, which is a lot what last night had looked like.

The PLC, whose list of offenses now extended to breaking and entering, had been right. She couldn't avoid school forever, but she _could_ avoid people forever. A task at which she excelled.

The warning bell rang, and Fern ducked away to her first class, taking a detour of her usual route.

The first half of the day was easy. Classes kept her gracefully segregated from certain individuals, and escaping notice at lunch was painfully easy. Once or twice, she caught a glimpse of Erica prowling the halls, searching for her, but Fern easily evaded the blonde bombshell by camping out near the music department, camouflaging herself as one of the band geeks.

Chemistry was the kick in the pants to a successful day. To start the whole mess off, she had just barely made it before the bell. Upon entering, it became obvious that a trap had been set for her in advance. One seat remained, and that seat was next to Stiles, who paused jiggling his leg only to raise his eyebrows, and look at the seat next to him meaningfully.

The table was bracketed by the windows, and the table Scott and Allison had occupied. Directly behind them, Erica and Isaac hovered menacingly in the background.

To think, just a day ago, the girl looking at her like a half-starved lion would at a lamed zebra had sat next to her and discussed _Dracula_, and the wonders of self-confidence.

Fern lowered herself stiffly into the seat in between Stiles and Scott, staring forward.

_Don't let them win, the day is almost over, you just have to get through this class..._

"So," Stiles chirped casually, tapping his pen on the desk (the kid was _constantly_ in motion) "Care to mention how you ended up at Scott's?"

"Didn't Allison tell you?" Fern asked softly, pulling out her notebook.

"Well, yeah," he confirmed. "Except that's complete bullshit." Fern raised an eyebrow at him as calmly as she could manage.

_Stick to your story. Stick to your story. Stick to your story, stick to your-_

"The store isn't anywhere _near_ Scott's house." Stiles deadpanned. "Also, your freak-out in chemistry the other day? Not exactly _subtle_."

"I was _sick_." Fern snapped. "I suppose you have a conspiracy theory for that, too?"

"Okay, first of all, that wasn't _sick_. You were _violently ill in the hallway_. There's a difference," he insisted when she gave him a bland look. "-then, you showed up at Scott's house, when most people would have elected to, you know, stay home and make friends with the toilet."

Fern opened her mouth to retort, but was saved by Harris' droning, I'm-upset-at-the-entire-world voice as he started off the day's lecture with something about the molecular structure of hydrogen.

Thankfully, it was not a lab day, and so things were quiet, aside from ignoring Stiles' attempts to get her attention by whispering and jabbing, as well as the chilling looks Isaac and Erica were giving her.

Seriously, what did they want? The PLC with the murder eyes told her to stay out of it, which she fully intended to do. _Because murder eyes._ Why would they mess with that?

* * *

Erica sidled up next to Fern as she closed her locker in preparation to escape back home, where she would securely lock all of the doors and windows, and barricade herself in her room as soon as her mother left for her night shift.

"Well, well. Looks like I finally caught you." Erica smiled, leaning her shoulder against the row of lockers, blocking Fern's path.

"Look, Erica." Fern tried to keep her voice firm as she faced the taller girl. "I'm trying very hard not to get involved, because the creepy fucker that broke into my house told me not to, and I really don't have a death wish, but you are making this very difficult for me."

"Relax, bambi. I just have a few..._questions_."

"Fern!" someone calls from down the hallway. Erica growled- honest to god _growled_- at the sound of pounding feet approaching them.

_I really shouldn't be surprised by the whole growling thing after the past two days, but _what the hell_._

Scott skidded to a stop next to Fern, slightly out of breath, and wrapped his hand around her bicep.

"_We're _talking," Erica snarled, but he tugged Fern a safe distance away (for which she was immensely grateful).

"No," Scott said firmly. "You guys don't get to manipulate while she has no idea what's going on. She can pick a side by _herself_."

_Uh, have I suddenly disappeared from the room?_

"We're not _manipulating_ her!" Erica gave him a dirty look. "Derek wants a couple of questions answered, and after that- "

Scott let go of Fern in favor of making angry hand gestures. Recognizing an opportunity, she slowly began inching away. She just needed to get out of grabbing distance, and then she could run for it-

"-After that, what?" he demanded. "You'll have made her a target, without her even knowing?"

Scott turned away sharply from the confrontation, obviously making a point to ignore Erica, and anxiously herded Fern towards the school's front doors, foiling her escape attempt. _Damn. So close._

The parking lot was mostly empty by the time she found herself in front of a faded blue jeep, where Stiles was casually waiting, drumming his fingers with pent-up energy.

Yeah, this was starting to feel a lot she'd gotten in the middle of a territorial pissing war.

"Scott!" he straightened when he noticed his friend's presence. "You're alive."

"Yeah," Scott confirmed. "Obviously."

"I'm going home," Fern sighed, in an attempt to be assertive.

"I'll give you a ride," Stiles offered, shrugging. "You're already here, so I might as well."

There was that guilt, worming its way into her conscience again. Why did these idiots have to be _nice_? They were lucky she was desperate for friends. She should know better than to fraternize with people who were involved with attempted _murders_.

….Even if they _had_ prevented an actual murder. They still led ambiguous lifestyles.

"Okay," she relented, albeit hesitantly, and climbed into the back of the jeep, while Scott took shotgun.

* * *

"A beta is a siamese fighting fish." Fern blurted, unable to take the awkward silence of the car ride.

"What?" Scott turned, giving her a look akin to a confused puppy. _Stop being adorable._

"A beta," Fern repeated. "is a siamese fighting fish. So, what the hell does it have to do with..." she made a vague motion with her hands.

"...Werewolves?" Stiles casually finished for her. Scott jerked, whipping around to face his friend, who was calmly focused on driving.

"_Stiles_!" he hissed.

"Yeah, werewolves, I guess. Is that what you are?" she asked Scott. "I saw you do your..._furry_ thing. When you fought Isaac."

"Your _furry_ thing, oh my god," Stiles wheezed, cackling behind the steering wheel.

"Shut up, Stiles!" Scott snapped indignantly. "You saw me when I _shifted_, yeah." he turned back to her. "A beta is a kind of werewolf."

"Uh," Fern commented eloquently.

"There are betas, alphas, and omegas." he explained.

"Betas are the most common type," Stiles interjected. "Alphas are the leaders of packs, which consist of betas. Omegas are werewolves that get kicked out of their pack, or choose not to join a pack in the first place."

"They don't survive long," Scott added.

"The dude who broke into my house said he had three betas. So, he was an alpha, then?"

Stiles slammed on the brakes.

"_Derek Hale_ broke into your _house_?" Scott demanded, a little hysterically, as the jeep lurched.

"The guy with the unnecessary leather jacket and serial killer vibes." Stiles clarified.

"That...describes him pretty well, actually," Fern nodded. "Yeah, he broke into my house, and told me to stay out of...whatever this is."

"Well, that actually wouldn't be a dumb choice," Stiles agreed.

"Why would Erica be harassing you, if he wanted you to stay of it?"

"You tell me," Fern sighed.

* * *

"_What if I want to kiss you?" the hand of a rotting corpse caressed Lydia's face, dead, burned flesh against healthy, soft skin._

"_Maybe I don't want you to," she breathed, leaning against a white column._

_She strode back inside, bare feet on expensive kitchen tiles, gingerly cupping the purple flower the dead man had plucked from the garden's vines._

* * *

"_Fern!_" Fern's mother snapped her fingers in front of her face, and she jolted, blinking.

Cold lasagna and half a glass of milk sat in front of her at the kitchen table. The heater hummed gently in the background, now that winter was setting in more viciously.

"Sorry," she mumbled, and stabbed at the remains of her dinner with a fork.

A beat of silence passed between them. Suddenly, her mother slammed her fork down on the table.

"Is this an attention thing?" she demanded.

What?" Fern looked up from her plate dumbly.

"You're spacing out all the time," her mother sighed. "You've been so melodramatic lately."

"You moved me across the continent. I think I'm coping pretty well, all things considered." Fern glared at the red smear of lasagna on her plate.

"We could get you in with one of the school counselors- "

"I don't need a counselor," she snapped, cutting her mother stood abruptly, dumping her plate and glass in the sink on her way out of the kitchen, and locked her bedroom door.

* * *

_Scott is arching on the table, straining to breathe. The school receptionist plants a foot between his shoulder blades when he rolls off the table, and tuts._

_An ocean of sweaty ravers don't notice the body behind the tarp._

_Derek sinks his teeth into the secretary's shoulder, blind with rage. He carries Scott away, unconscious and gasping._

_Jackson wakes up at home._

* * *

_Her feet were wet and cold. Water dripped from her hair and her teeth chattered, but it didn't matter. She kept walking, even after she didn't know the names of the streets, and when the buildings were unfamiliar._

_Rain poured over the world around her, drenching her pajamas, flooding the gutters, and rushing through the storm drains. A flash of lightning brought her to an inconspicuous brick building. Thunder rattled the glass panels of the door as she opened it, despite the closed sign and the dark windows._

_Chairs sat in the shadowy corners, glossy magazines piled on a coffee table in front of them. The reception desk was empty, but the storm told her where to go._

_She slipped through the door in the back, tracking rainwater every step of the way, until she reached a dim-lit room with a stainless steel examining table._

_A man stepped out from the shadows, near the exit._

"_We're closed." his voice was calm and mellow, in a way that both put her on edge and made her want to sag to the floor in relief._

_He felt...safe._

* * *

"Hello?" The vet waved his hand in front of Fern's face, and her head snapped up, the fog quickly receding from her eyes.

Fern hesitated, confused. "Where am I?"

"You're in my examining room, after hours."

"Oh," she mumbled, as if that had been remotely helpful. "I should go home."

"Perhaps when the rain stops," he agreed. "Let me get you a towel."

"Thank you," Fern paused. "I don't know your name." she gazed at the wall, unfocused.

"Please, call me Deaton." he handed her towel. "Do you sleepwalk often?"

She took the towel, limply settling it in her lap. "No," she blinked and shook her head, reaching up to towel her hair dry. "This is the first time I've ended up somewhere different after a dream like that."

"What kind of dreams?" Deaton asked carefully, settling near the wall across from her.

Fern looked up. "Sometimes I see things before they happen."

"What kind of things?"

She hesitated. "Bad things."

Deaton nodded. "I think it's time you headed home." Fern bobbed her head in agreement, and slid off the exam table, pausing to fold the towel neatly.

"Thank you, Deaton." she padded to the waiting area, silent.

"Something to think about, Fern." he appeared in the doorway behind the desk.

"Yes?"

"The door was locked."

* * *

_Skree, skree, skree, skree-_

Fern lazily slapped the general area of the clock that contained the _snooze_ button, and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

It wasn't until she was shoving cereal in her mouth that she remembered.

_The door was locked._


End file.
